


774FJD - Unit 6-5, May 1974

by BobbyCrocker101



Category: Kojak (TV 1973)
Genre: 1970s, Attempted Murder, Detectives, Ford Galaxie 500, Gen, Manhattan South, NYPD, New York City, homicides, murders
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-14
Updated: 2019-12-14
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:34:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21793078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BobbyCrocker101/pseuds/BobbyCrocker101
Summary: Bobby Crocker gets his first solo assignment, and loses his Ford Galaxie 500.This is an original story set in May 1974.Feedback welcome
Kudos: 2





	774FJD - Unit 6-5, May 1974

**Author's Note:**

> During Season 1 Bobby Crocker was often seen driving a black Ford Galaxie 500 but this car disappeared and was replaced in Season 2 by a blue Buick Century. Ignoring the fact that the same licence plate was used for both vehicles, this story concerns the demise of the Galaxie.
> 
> None of the characters belong to me; I'm just playing with them for a while before putting them back in their box. No money is being, or will be made from this story.
> 
> I was 15 in September 1973 when "Kojak" first aired, and had other things to do. Now I'm retired I’ve finally watched this wonderful old TV show for the first time. I’m from the UK and have never visited the US, but have made use of the internet to gain information about the NYPD and the city of New York. I apologise in advance for any language confusion.
> 
> In the Season 2 episode “Nursemaid” (1974) Crocker’s ID shows him to have been born in 1943 which would make him 32 in 1975, but because he's occasionally referred to as being very young and is often called "Kid" or "Junior", my version of him was born in 1951 which makes him 23 in this story, and as little is known about his back story, I've made up my own version.
> 
> Original characters: Gloria Bernstein, ‘Old George’, James Chandler, Jack Roker, Sally Thomas, Eddie Baker, Ray Dawson, Norrie Jordan.
> 
> The title comes from the Ford Galaxie's licence plate and Unit number which was mentioned in the Season 1 episode 'Knockover' (1973).
> 
> Spoilers: None, but a familiarity with the show would be useful, as would reading my story "New Beginnings".
> 
> Enjoy!

Captain Frank McNeil walked into the Manhattan South Detective’s Division squad room. All was calm and serene. Crocker wasn't due in until eight, Saperstein was at his desk typing up a report, Rizzo was at the back of the room taking someone’s fingerprints, Stavros was at his desk chatting with an old man while filling in an enquiry form, Vine was busy preparing the staff chart for the next month, and Tracy was sniffing the coffee he’d just poured into his mug. But most important of all Theo Kojak hadn’t lost his temper once today. Of course it wouldn’t last, and it was still very early, but for now it was wonderful.

“I hear Crocker brought Norrie Jordan in last night.” McNeil began as he wandered into Kojak’s office.

“Yeah, I sent Stavros with him to a call about a possible break-in at one of the warehouses down by the docks. They found a door had been forced open and there was Jordan who claimed he was working there, but he was hiding his hands behind a box. Crocker asked him to show his hands, but Jordan refused, so he shot him in the leg – turns out he was concealing a .38.”

“Well Crocker might have shot a bit early, but not waiting was reasonable considering what we know about Norrie Jordan. Best not to wait for the glint of steel before shooting where HE'S concerned. It’s not our responsibility to differentiate between actual threats and those who are acting.”

“You been reading the manual again Mac, or is Lillian away?” Kojak asked smirking.

“She’s gone to visit her sister.” McNeil replied. Kojak took him to one side

"You know Frank, if you're at a loose end, I know a couple of broads..." he offered.

At that moment the phone on Kojak’s desk rang, and the captain beat a hasty retreat to his office. 

****

The early morning was bright and sunny and Detective Robert “Bobby” Crocker was running round Tomkins Square Park. He’d taken up running when he was at high school and had continued to do so whenever he could. He only had to look round the squad room at his overweight colleagues to know it was a sensible thing to do. He’d arrived at the park just before six in order to enjoy a run before heading off to the precinct for a quick shower and change of clothes before starting his shift at eight o’clock.

Apart from a few birds and squirrels scampering around the tree roots the park was almost deserted. As he ran he waved at 'Old George' who was sitting on his usual bench reading a newspaper. Further along a middle-aged woman was standing near an easel, getting ready to paint the scenery. An Irish setter joined him for a while before being called back to its owner.

As he approached a clump of trees he noticed something red on the ground; it appeared to be a shoe. He bent down to pick it up. Further along he spotted its twin. He looked around and noticed some damage to a nearby flowerbed, it looked like something had been dragged through. He walked into the trees and then stopped suddenly. Lying on the grass was the body of a young dark-haired woman, fully-clothed, apart from her shoes. 

Noticing his young friend had stopped running, George put his paper down and came over. Bobby knelt down and checked the woman for signs of life; there were none. He looked up at the old man.

“Call the precinct.” Bobby asked him. The artist came over and looked at Bobby’s NYPD sweatshirt and asked if he was a police officer. 

“Detective Crocker, Manhattan South Homicide Division,” he replied, showing his badge. He told her to stay back while he began searching the area for clues. She gave him her jacket to place over the victim's face. 

****

“I leave you on your own for a few hours Crocker and look what happens!” Lieutenant Kojak began as he approached the scene. “What have we got?”

“Female, early twenties, no ID. I’ve got Tracy and Rizzo combing the area. There's no blood on the ground, so I figure she was killed somewhere else and then dumped here in the park.” Agajanian the Medical Examiner came over to join the two men. 

“I take it she didn’t die of natural causes.” Kojak remarked. The ME shook his head. 

“Single blow to the back of the head by the looks of it, I’ll know more after I get her back to the lab,” he replied. Bobby looked round and saw the artist still standing nearby. He noticed she had a camera round her neck, and remembered that some artists liked to photograph their subjects before painting them.

“Excuse me,” he asked the woman who told him her name was Ms Gloria Bernstein. “I notice you have a camera. Do you regularly take photographs in the park?”

“Yes, I do” she replied. “In fact I have lots of pictures of the park taken at all different times of the day throughout the year: I love the way the light changes with the seasons...”

“I was wondering if our victim might be in one of them. Would it be possible to see them?” Bobby asked, cutting her off. 

“Of course,” she replied, “although they’re in a bit of a muddle. I’ll go home now and have a look and call you if I find anything...” Bobby sensed she was flirting with him. He spotted the lieutenant wandering over.

“Lieutenant, this is Ms Gloria Bernstein,” he began, “She’s been taking pictures in the park. I’m hoping she might have unintentionally taken one of our victim.” Kojak told Bobby he’d made a good call, kissed the woman’s hand and thanked her for her assistance. The young detective wrote his telephone number at the precinct on a piece of paper and gave it to her. She walked back across the park and started packing away her things. Absently she wondered if she had time to get her hair done: it wasn't every day a handsome young man came calling, but thought better of it. After all a poor girl had been murdered... 

“Think you’re ready to handle a case on your own Crocker?” Kojak asked. 

“Lieutenant?” Bobby asked back.

“You’ve been with us for what, eight months now? The captain feels you’re ready to start working your own cases, and I agree. Since you found the deceased, this case is yours if you want it and remember, we’re all here to help.” Bobby thanked the lieutenant and putting his commanding voice to good use started giving out orders. Kojak smiled to himself as he walked away. 

****

Down at the Coroner's Office, and after talking at length about the new car he was in the process of buying, Agajanian confirmed the cause of death: a single blow to the head from a blunt instrument. 

“There IS something interesting though,” he continued. “There’s a square-shaped fracture to her skull about three inches across, perhaps from the murder weapon, it certainly doesn’t come from anything natural.”

“Were there any personal effects?” Bobby asked. Agajanian led him into a side room and lifted a clear plastic bag out of a crate.

“Only her purse,” the ME began. Bobby took it out of the bag, opened it and tipped out the contents; some makeup, some tissues, a house key and a little black book. He flicked through the pages. They contained names and numbers but no addresses.

****

“How’s the investigation going?” Kojak asked as soon as his detective returned to the precinct. 

“The ME’s report confirms our Jane Doe died as a result of a single blow to the back of the head with something small and square-shaped. These were in her purse,” he pulled the house key and the little black book out of his jacket pocket. “It looks like an address book, but it's just names and numbers. I’ve got the phone company matching them up. I’ve also requested a missing persons' check from down town, and Ms Bernstein just called: she thinks she's found a couple of photographs of our victim. I'm on my way over there now.”

"I think she likes you." Kojak teased, smiling at the look of horror that appeared on Crocker's face.

****

“Do you photograph all of your subjects?” Bobby asked Gloria as she handed him a cup of tea. She was being extremely attentive and reeked of expensive perfume, and was most insistent that he call her by her given name. 

“It’s very useful: people don’t often have the time to wait around to be painted,” she replied, handing the photographs to Bobby. One of them showed the victim in close-up. She had certainly been very beautiful. The other was a general shot of the park with the girl in the distance off to one side. 

“You know, while I was driving over here I imagined what she looked like when she was alive: this is pretty much it. Can I keep this?” he asked looking at the close-up picture. "I can get some copies made and distributed."

****

Back at the precinct Bobby spent the next few hours on the phone, but wasn’t having a lot of success. He felt a hand on his shoulder. 

“How’s it going?” Kojak asked. 

“Not too good lieutenant.” Bobby replied. “A lot of people aren’t answering and none of the people I’ve actually MANAGED to speak to will admit to recognising our victim from the description. THIS number is different though,” he pointed to a number on the last page, “it’s written in red ink whereas the others are written in black. There’s also a name next to the number, ‘James’. I’ll try that one next.”

“You know Crocker,” Kojak began, ”if someone found my personal address book and called twenty people, it’s hard to believe no one would recognise me from MY description. How many numbers are there?”

“Between eighty and eighty-five,” Bobby replied. “I’ve shared them out among the guys.” Kojak nodded. He was pleased the young man had got the others involved and wasn't trying to do everything by himself.

****

“I can assure you Detective Crocker I have absolutely NO idea why my unlisted private telephone number would be in a dead girl’s address book,” the cold voice on the telephone spoke. Bobby didn’t like the man’s attitude and was certain he was lying. “Could you give me a description?”

“About twenty, five feet and six inches tall, dark brown hair, blue eyes.” Bobby replied.

“No she’s not familiar to me at all Detective Crocker,” the voice replied.

“OK, thank you, and I’m sorry to have bothered you.” Bobby replied. “Oh, by the way can I ask, is ‘James’ your first name or your last name?” The phone went dead. Bobby immediately dialled the phone company and the number was traced to a James Chandler. He wrote down the details.

“You got something Crocker?” Kojak asked noticing the puzzled expression on his detective's face as he poured himself some coffee, or what passed for coffee.

“I’m not sure to be honest.“ Bobby replied. “I just phoned the guy whose name was written in red and he was MOST insistent that he didn’t know our victim; he wasn’t particularly pleased to hear from ME either. Anyway, I contacted the phone company and got a name, ‘James Chandler.”

“Daddy Warbucks?” Stavros asked as he walked into the room.

“The bank president…” Kojak replied. “I wonder why she would have HIS number…” Stavros held up his list of numbers.

“Well, all I got was the Midtown Tennis Club, the track, Delray Cleaners and a tobacco shop,” Perhaps our victim ran errands for a man, and it’s HIS list we’ve got.” 

****

“We never finished our conversation,” Bobby began. He and Saperstein were standing in the oak panel-lined office of James Chandler, president of one of the country’s largest banks; a log fire was burning across the room.

“As I’ve already told you Detective Crocker I have absolutely no idea at all why that girl would have MY number,” the man began. More than ever Bobby was convinced Chandler was lying. 

“I hear you, but I’m also having trouble believing you.” Bobby replied. “I think you not only knew her, but you know how she died.”

“Would you like me to call security?” Chandler replied.

"Were you having an affair with her? Did she find out something about you that you didn’t want known?” Bobby pushed.

“I’m warning you Detective Crocker, I have some very powerful friends.” Chandler began.

“Are you threatening me?” Bobby replied. “Because if you are I’ll make so much heat it’ll be all over the evening news!”

“I wasn’t aware the NYPD carried out its investigations with such aggression,” Chandler continued.

“I’ll be seeing you again, I’ll keep on hunting until I find out who she was, and what happened to her, and where YOU fit into the picture!” Bobby replied angrily as he turned to leave the room, Saperstein hot on his heels.

****

After the two detectives had left Chandler picked up the phone and began to dial. A male voice answered.

“Roker, I’ve just had a very unpleasant visit from the police officer who telephoned last night,” Chandler began. “He needs to be dealt with before he causes irreparable damage.”

“It’s a serious business, killing a cop,” the other man replied.

“The threat he poses is MORE serious,” Chandler continued.

“Then we’ll ‘ice’ him.”

****

Turning into East 5th Street the following morning, Bobby was heading towards the precinct when there was a loud bang and the windshield shattered sending glass all over him and into his eyes. There was another bang and he realised he was being shot at. Unable to see he somehow brought the car to a halt, opened the door and then felt strong arms pulling him away from the vehicle and heard a voice ask him if he was alright.

“I can’t see! I’ve got glass in my eyes!" He yelled back. The shots were still ringing out around him, and he could hear the ricochets from the car and the ground. Other shots were being fired in response. After a few minutes the shooting stopped and the street went quiet.

****

“Well Crocker, your search for that girl’s ID seems to have rattled someone’s cage.” Kojak began. Bobby was sitting in the precinct infirmary having his eyes washed out. “How’s he doing?” he asked the medic.

“He was very lucky. His eyes might be a bit sore for a day or two; but otherwise no damage done.” The man replied.

“I’m sure Chandler is involved, but he won’t admit to it.” Bobby began angrily.

“How are you coming along with the address book?” Kojak asked.

“We’ve got all the addresses now, lieutenant. I've got people checking them out and I've circulated copies of the girl's picture.”

“Keep at it kid,” the lieutenant replied, patting him on the shoulder. He didn’t want to admit to it but he was worried that someone seemed to want to put his detective permanently out of the picture.

****

“How’s Crocker doing?” Captain McNeil asked. He and Kojak were standing out on the landing by the sandwich machine. The Lieutenant gave it a kick.

“A little shaken up, but otherwise OK,” Kojak replied looking at the package in his hand; “ham and cheese. I asked for tuna and mayo!”

“You need to kick it twice for tuna. Perhaps you should step in.” McNeil suggested. “Our investigation seems to be upsetting someone.”

“And what kind of message would I be sending to Crocker Frank? That I don’t trust him? “Kojak replied. “You asked me to let him start working on his own cases, and that’s what I’m doing!"

“Well, if you’re sure.” McNeil replied.

****

“How could you have missed him?” Chandler yelled at the two men in front of him. “There were two of you and only ONE of him! You’re supposed to be a professional Roker. We have a business arrangement; you bring me dirty drug money and I launder it, and YOU ...” he looked at the other man, “... are supposed to take care of any obstacles along the way. I want that cop out of my life!”

“He will be, soon,” Roker replied, taking a small device out of a box. We’ll blow him to hell and back.”

****

The following morning, Bobby was sitting at his desk when he received a call from a 'stoolie' informing him that he had some information regarding the murdered girl. The man gave instructions for Bobby to meet him at the Oak Bridge in Central Park. Calling for Saperstein, the two men went out to the car and headed out. The windshield had been fixed but there were still a couple of ricochet marks on the paintwork. The two men chatted amiably, but Bobby had noticed something, a noise coming from the radio behind the usual chatter and it was bothering him.

“There seems to be a lot of static interference today.” he began.

“Perhaps the radio's damaged.” Saperstein suggested. Bobby wasn’t convinced and continued to listen.

“There appears to be a pattern,” he continued, “hear it?” Saperstein listened and agreed, there was a definite pattern to the ‘static’.” Bobby suddenly remembered something from his time in the Army. “I may be over-reacting but that sound could be an EM detonator.” He continued to listen; now he was convinced. “And where there’s a detonator, there’s a…”

“BOMB!!” Both men spoke at the same time. Screeching to a halt next to a public telephone, Bobby ordered Saperstein out of the car and told him to call the precinct. 

“What about YOU?” the other man asked. 

“It’s too built-up here. I need to get somewhere that’s open. I’ll try and get to the park. Just call it in and get the roads and the park cleared!” Bobby shouted back as he roared off.

****

The intermittent sound was still coming from the radio as Bobby approached Central Park. To him it now sounded like a count-down. He had no idea how much time was left, all he wanted to do was to get the car away from people and buildings. He’d thought about heading to the docks and dumping the car in the river, but in the end had decided it would be quicker to continue on his way to the park. Within moments of leaving Saperstein he’d found himself with an escort. The traffic had been halted along his route and he’d been able to ‘red light it’ through the streets. A couple of times he’d had to swerve to avoid hitting pedestrians, but for the most part his route was clear. 

Entering the park from West 59th Street, he sped away from his escort along Central Drive until he reached a big enough gap in the trees to enter Sheep Meadow the first piece of open ground he'd spotted. He opened the car door and threw himself out onto the grass. Within seconds there was a huge blast as the car exploded, sending burning chunks of metal flying into the air. He quickly rolled himself into the foetal position and put his arms over his head. The sound of approaching sirens could be heard in the distance.

****

“You got a death wish Crocker?” Kojak asked, more than a little relieved when Bobby rolled over on to his back and squinted at the brightness. “Either way you’re making someone very nervous.” Reaching a hand down he helped his detective to his feet, straightened his tie for him and flattened his left lapel. “By the way, Stavros just called; someone at Delray Cleaners has identified your Jane Doe. He wants you to meet him there. Are you OK?” Bobby nodded. He was a bit bruised and his ears were ringing, but otherwise he was still in one piece. The two men walked back to Kojak's car and headed into town.

****

Kojak dropped Bobby off at the dry cleaners where he was met by Stavros who introduced him to the assistant.

“He recognised our Jane Doe straight away,” Stavros began. “Says her name is Sally Thomas. She’s his neighbour and a regular customer, but the only stuff she brings in for cleaning is her own. He’s given me her address, but says she lives alone.” Writing down the address the two men left the shop and headed off to the girl's apartment on East 10th Street.

****

“That poor girl,” the landlady started as she led the two detectives up to the second floor. “She was such a nice person; no trouble at all, unlike some. She hadn’t been living here long, came from somewhere out West with a young man.” They reached Apartment 8 and she handed over the key before heading back to the reception desk. Before unlocking the door Bobby tried the key that had been with the girl’s personal effects: it didn’t fit. The two men looked at one another. Using the key the landlady had supplied Bobby unlocked the door and the two men stepped inside. A weird feeling came over him, eerie; it was almost as if he could feel the girl's presence, as if she was still there. There was nothing out of place or unusual in the apartment; it was obvious no one had been there since the victim had left. 

“Look at this!” Stavros began as he carefully picked up an opened envelope that had been sitting on the breakfast bar. “It’s got a Rikers Island postmark.” Bobby gently removed the letter that was inside and began to read.

“It’s from someone called Eddie Baker; he must be the guy the landlady mentioned. I think I need to go pay him a visit.” Bobby replied. 

****

The drive to Riker’s Island had taken nearly an hour. It wasn’t his first visit to the prison; he’d been there several times with the lieutenant. But his was his first solo visit and once inside Bobby immediately felt the walls closing in on him. It was a truly horrible place. He showed his pass at the various checkpoints and had handed over his gun and then followed a guard down a long corridor, before eventually ending up in one of several visitor’s rooms. He sat and waited for a few minutes then another guard arrived escorting a tall fair-haired man about his age. The two of them sat down at a table facing one another, the guard took up a position just outside the door. 

“I’ve come about Sally Thomas,” Bobby began. Baker began to look alarmed. “I understand you know her.”

“Sally? Is she OK, has something happened to her?” the man asked full of concern. “I was set up for possession,” he continued. “A guy called Ray Dawson asked me to deliver a package for him. I got picked up, and told the police about him, but when they spoke to him, he denied knowing me.” 

“What's your relationship with Sally Thomas?” Bobby pressed. He wanted to get out of the prison as quickly as possible.

“We grew up together in the same small town in Iowa. Her parents are 'bible thumpers'; she wanted to get away from them so we ran away together. She contacted them when we arrived here in New York, but they didn’t want to know. What’s happened to her?” Bobby could see the other man was getting upset and broke the news to him that Sally was dead. He also sensed the man was telling the truth about being set up and wanted to help him. He made a mental note to speak to the lieutenant when he got back to the precinct.

****

The following morning, Bobby was once again running through Tompkins Square Park when he spotted Gloria Bernstein painting. He went over for a look.

“What do you think?” she asked. Bobby replied that the painting looked really life like. Then something caught his eye. He looked at the photograph pinned to her easel: at the two people in the distance who appeared to be arguing. 

“That man in the distance, the one in the red jacket. I’ve seen that jacket somewhere. Do you still have the negative?”

“Of course!” She replied. Bobby asked if she would be able to find it and offered to help her look, but she explained that there would be no need to search: that once she’d made up her mind to paint a picture the negatives were catalogued and put into a special file and it would take but a few minutes to find the one he wanted, and if he’d like to come home with her now... Bobby was sure she was flirting with him, but he decided, if it got him what he wanted, what the heck. He helped her pack up her things and then carried them to her car. 

****

Bobby was standing in Mrs Bernstein’s art studio, it was certainly very impressive.

“Here’s the negative with the man.” she began. Bobby took the piece of acetate from her. The image was rather small.

“Can I borrow this, get it enlarged?” he asked.

“No need,” she replied. “I can enlarge it for you here; it’ll give me a chance to try out my new dark room, if you don’t mind being alone with me in the dark...” she teased. He followed her out of the studio, and into the garden where there was an outbuilding. Inside she had all the latest equipment for developing photographs.

“My late husband, God rest him, left me well provided for.” She explained. “I used to paint and do photography before we married, but once the kids came along I had little time. Alas now I have all the time in the world… Are YOU married?” she asked Bobby who blushed.

An hour later she presented him with an enlarged and printed copy of the negative and he could clearly see the man in the red jacket: James Chandler and he was talking to a young woman. She was standing side-on to the camera, but blown up there was no mistaking Sally Thomas. Bobby remembered the red jacket had been hanging on the back of the man's office door. 

“Oh, that’s Mr Chandler!” Mrs Bernstein exclaimed excitedly. “Such a nice man! I often see him walking his dog in the park. He owns an apartment nearby, though he only uses it when he’s in town. I believe his actual home is somewhere out in the Hamptons. He's in finance I believe.” Bobby thanked her for the photograph and got a cab back to the precinct. Within an hour he had the address of Chandler’s 'home away from home' and ascertained that the man was currently away. Needing a ride, he grabbed Stavros and the two of them headed out. 

****

“Shouldn’t we have asked for a warrant?” Stavros asked.

“I requested one, but they told me it wouldn’t be ready until later, so I’m taking a leaf out of the lieutenant’s book and collecting it on the way back!" Bobby replied. Stavros smiled. The lieutenant was certainly rubbing off on the young man. 

Parking the car outside the building, Bobby ordered Stavros to keep watch while he went up to Chandler's apartment. Once outside the door, Bobby tried the key found with Sally’s possessions in the lock: it fit. Turning handle he walked inside. He had a good look around, but didn’t find anything out of the ordinary until his eyes lit upon a wooden implement propped up against the wall: it was a croquet mallet. He carefully picked it up. 

“I think I’ve just found the murder weapon.” He spoke to no-one in particular. He walked out of the apartment carrying the mallet and locked the door behind him, as he turned to walk back to the elevator a voice called out.

“That’s far enough, take out your gun and toss it over.” Bobby complied. “Don’t worry Detective Crocker I’m not going to kill you: I need you alive.” 

“You killed Sally Thomas.” Bobby began.

“I work for Jack Roker, he works for James Chandler. Roker asked me to get rid of her body. I planted the address book and key in her possessions so that they would lead back to Chandler. He pretended he was going to make her his personal secretary; what he really wanted was to get 'next to her' and offered to put her up here at his apartment. He even told Roker to get rid of her friend.”

“You’re Ray Dawson,” Bobby realised. “You framed Eddie Baker on the possession charge.”

“It doesn’t matter Detective Crocker, because once I’ve said what I’m going to say I’m gone.” Dawson replied.

“You cared for her.” Bobby continued.

“She found out Chandler was laundering money for a couple of drug rings, and was going to 'blow the whistle'.” Dawson replied still pointing his gun at the detective.

“It’s going to be hard to make a case against Chandler without your testimony.” Bobby told him.

“That’s YOUR problem.” Dawson replied.

“I’ll make it YOUR problem. If YOU walk, Sally’s killer walks.” Bobby replied.

“Look,” Dawson began. “You can pick up Chandler at the Mid-Town Tennis Club; he’ll be there at four o'clock this afternoon, and that’s all I want to have to do with it.”

“You went to a lot of trouble to get me here to make sure a chick like Sally wouldn’t have her life cut short without the person responsible paying the consequences,” Bobby replied.

“Do you know what you’re asking?” Dawson asked.

“What do you think Sally would want?” Bobby replied. “Do you think she would want you to help? I think she would. We need you.” The two men stared at one another then with a sigh and a nod Dawson handed Bobby’s gun back to him and then handed over his own.

****

At four o’clock Bobby and the rest of the team moved in on the tennis club ready to apprehend James Chandler. They found him together with Jack Roker sitting in the bar with a couple of young ladies. Bobby thought it unlikely the bank president would be armed, but thought that the other man would definitely be. Seeing the police approaching Roker tried to make a run for it, taking a barmaid hostage in the process, but gave up quickly when he realised he was surrounded and there was no way out; the girl was released unharmed.

“We have a witness who has agreed to testify.” Bobby informed the two men as they were cuffed and led away.

****

“I thought you’d like to know we had a collection to pay for Sally Thomas's funeral.” Kojak began. Bobby nodded his thanks. He'd phoned her parents in Iowa, but because she’d turned against their ways they didn’t want to know and the lieutenant had noticed Bobby had been very quiet ever since. He'd also promised the young man that he would speak to the DA about Eddie Baker and the possibility of a retrial, which would hopefully result in his unconditional release. In the meantime Bobby was busy working on his deposition for the up-coming trial.

“Oh and you’ve also been assigned a new take-home car Crocker. Try not to break it.” Kojak continued. "It''s down at the garage." The NYPD was currently in the process of replacing its aging fleet of Plymouths and Fords and had recently taken delivery of a large number of Buicks. 

At the end of his shift Bobby got a ride down town to the motor pool. He’d been rather fond of his shiny black Ford Galaxie 500, now in a million pieces all over Central Park, and wondered what his new car would be. The one thing he didn’t want was a Buick like the lieutenant’s which sounded like a tank and even with the siren off could be heard approaching from half a mile away. Of course that could be down to the man’s driving ‘skills’. He also didn’t want to be a Kojak mini-me. Walking into the garage he met with the sergeant in charge who handed him some keys and directed him to his new car. He sighed when he saw it: a brand new blue Buick Century. 

"Theo said you were to have the blue one," the sergeant teased, "said something about it matching your eyes. Personally I don't get it." Neither did Bobby, whose eyes were actually grey. 

****

“Crocker did a good job, you should be proud Theo,” Captain McNeil began as he poured himself some coffee, took a sip and grimaced. “God this is bad. I guess it’s over now.”

“It’s never over Frank. Maybe we slow the merry-go-round down for a while, but then some creep comes along and starts it all up again.”

“So why do we bother?” McNeil asked.

“Because occasionally when we slow it down a good kid, like Crocker, gets the chance to jump off.” Kojak continued. 

“Amen to that.” McNeil replied.


End file.
